


Love to Hate

by ravenhairedtrickster



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, San Jose Sharks, Vancouver Canucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenhairedtrickster/pseuds/ravenhairedtrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joe Thornton hates Henrik Sedin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love to Hate

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know.

They don't like each other. Joe hates Henrik Sedin; how the swede turns the game into some prissy art form with his brother. His satisfaction about sweeping them in the playoffs was short lived, would've been much sweeter if they had topped it off with a cup. This year perhaps. But for now they stare each other down, and it's more of a loose insult when he snarls in the others face, poking him in the cheek as he asks him to open up so Joe can feed him some fingers.

It's a shock when Henrik shoves his arm away with a scowl and says, “Later.”

The game goes by in a blur, they lose, four-two for the Canucks but it doesn't feel like the end of the world- only feels like something besides a loss when the swedish captain corners him in the hallway. He sizes the other up, noting the sweat that beads at his temple, how fucking blue his eyes are. 

“I was joking.” He states.

“I know.” Henrik replies easily, too easily. 

“Then why are you here. Why are we talking?”

Henrik shrugs, a simple roll of his shoulders, his head cocks to the side. “Why did you say it?”

Joe doesn't know the answer even though there are a thousands reasons. It was a taunt, he was trying to goad Henrik into something, a penalty, anything. But was it really? No, he knows the answer all too well. “Sometimes I want you,” he admits, keeping his voice low, the walls have ears, he hopes Henrik takes the hint.

The Canuck captain nods, takes a step back, one more and his back would be against the wall, Joe notes. 

“You don't like me.” Comes the reply, wary now.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don't have to like you to want to fuck you, Sedin.”

“Henrik,” the swede murmurs, wiping his face with the towel draped around his neck.

Joe has the mind to scowl at the correction but doesn't. His jaw almost drops when Henrik next speaks.

“Fairmont, fifth floor, room 309.” 

Joe hates the nervousness that pools within his stomach as he watches Henrik disappear down the hallway a minute later. The invitation was clear, open, a promise of no strings attached in the form of a simplistic exchange. He mentally catalogues what the swede said, tucking it safely away as he returns to the dressing room.

Nobody mentions his absence. 

It's 11:48pm when he's standing outside of room 309, and a minute later 11:49pm when he's standing just within the doorway. 

The room is dimly lit, the TV muted, Joe's relieved to see it's completely devoid of sports highlights. He doesn't need a reminder. Henrik has retreated to a bed, sitting stiffly on the edge. Joe smirks. For all the swedes bravado he's nothing more than a little leaf, shuddering in the wind as it awaits the inevitable fall during autumn. 

He drops his coat when he approaches, doesn't hesitate to push Henrik down into the mattress. He breathes deeply, inhaling everything that is the other. There's a subtle spice to him, and the unmistakable vanilla almond of that blonde defensemen who always lingers near by. Joe briefly wonders if they're a thing. 

He presses his face to the hollow of Henrik's neck, daring to taste the flesh beneath him. 

“Are you usually this slow?” Henrik says suddenly. There's an amusement to it that offends Joe. 

He steals the swedes mouth with his own, hating how their teeth clash violently, how suddenly Henrik is struggling against him with a strength Joe has never dared to believe he possessed. They fight for several long minutes until Henrik gives in, mere seconds before Joe. They're panting, covered in sweat and he tastes blood, maybe it came from the tear in Henrik's lip, or maybe the aching pain radiating from his gums. 

“I hate you,” he hisses, roughly yanking the other captains jeans open. 

“You don't have to like me to fuck me,” Henrik breathes- and their next kiss is slow, soft, careful fingers in Joe's hair as his tongue dips into Henrik's mouth. He drinks down a moan as he squeezes the others cock. And when the hands in his hair tug insistently and the blue eyed ginger arches against him, Joe resigns himself to knowing that right now he simply cannot hate Henrik Sedin.


End file.
